Remembering William Dowd (February 28, 1922 – November 25, 2008) Depending on one’s worldview, it was either serendipity or fate that brought William Dowd and Frank Hubbard (1920–1976) together at Harvard in 1940. It was here that the boyhood friends saw their first harpsichord, an instrument by Arnold Dolmetsch (1858–1940) built at the Chickering Piano Factory in Boston. More harpsichord sightings ensued: fellow Harvard student Daniel Pinkham (1923–2006) owned an instrument by John Challis (1907–1984), and they also heard Pinkham’s teacher, harpsichordist and harpsichord builder Claude Chiasson (1914–1985) play in concert as well. The two English majors fell in love with the instrument, and were determined to begin building harpsichords that, unlike many built at the time, adhered to the principles of 17th- and 18th-century craftsmanship. It was a decision that in many ways started a revolution, the effects of which are still strongly felt. Both young men temporarily left Harvard to serve in World War II, but upon finishing their degrees they decided to embark on apprenticeships with two of the early revivalists whose work had loomed large: the French-born Dolmetsch, and the Michigan-born Challis, who had spent four years as an apprentice of Dolmetsch in England. While Dolmetsch had passed away before Hubbard could work with him, his shop was still active, and Hubbard learned some of the necessary fundamentals there. However, he later learned more about extant antiques from the extensive research of Hugh Gough, and by visiting instrument collections in London, Paris, Brussels, and The Hague. Dowd, meanwhile, had a very productive year-and- a-half with Challis in Detroit, learning not only the craft of instrument building but also the importance of having integrity as a builder. Dowd explained, “[He] set… a standard of professionalism. In other words, the instrument had to give good service, it had to work well. If it didn’t you had to do something about it. You just couldn’t build an instrument and run off.” (Palmer: Harpsichord in America, 138) While many would say that the work of Hubbard and Dowd was the antithesis to Challis’ later work (epitomized, for example, by the use of metal soundboards), it must be said that this commitment to producing reliable instruments was something that permeated their work, and led players to trust them. Hubbard and Dowd opened their shop in 1949 on Tremont Street in Boston. Word had already spread due in large part to their evangelistic zeal, and they began their first workday with a waiting list. Two of those on the list, Albert Fuller and Thomas Dunn, ordered instruments as a result of another serendipitous event. As Fuller explained: Thomas Dunn… told me how during his return from Europe he had met a young, intense and enthusiastic harpsichord builder who carried within him a brand new notion… he and his partner intended to build harpsichords based directly on historical models… Wildly excited by the lure of new/old horizons, Dunn and I set out for Boston to meet with Frank Hubbard, the bristling enthusiast from the boat, and his partner, William Dowd. So enthusiastic and confident were these two young Harvard graduates about the successful future of their notions that Dunn and I signed contracts, paying money and ordering instruments to be built sight unseen, doing this before these adventurers had ever made one of their own Hubbard & Dowd instruments. [Palmer, “William R. Dowd: A Tribute on his 70th Birthday”, 17] This is particularly interesting since Fuller’s first encounter with the harpsichord was through the playing of Wanda Landowska, whose Pleyel harpsichords were in many ways the very instruments that Hubbard and Dowd’s revolution came to put out of fashion. While Landowska had inspired a veritable fervor for the harpsichord and its music, the instruments she played in concert bore little resemblance to the instruments known to the composers whose music she played. With the arrival of Hubbard and Dowd, many of the musicians whom she inspired had their passion ignited even further by instruments which brought them yet closer to the music. Hubbard and Dowd’s first harpsichords were based on a 1637 Johannes Ruckers single manual, and on Italian, English and German models. Four clavichords were also built, and the partners completed fourteen restorations of antique instruments as well. When Charles Fisher joined them in 1956, a groundbreaking new design based on the work of Pascal Taskin excited many of the players on the contemporary scene, including Ralph Kirkpatrick, who had mostly performed on a Dolmetsch-Chickering and a Challis. Upon the arrival of Kirkpatrick’s Dowd/Taskin in 1966, he wrote to Dowd and exclaimed, “I have long been able to sing at the harpsichord, but now I can dance.” (Palmer, “Dowd: A Tribute”, 18) In an article Kirkpatrick wrote in 1983, he eloquently described the effect these instruments had on him: With the arrival on the scene of Hubbard and Dowd and their imitators there began what for me was a joyful period... I discovered new resources of playing and I enjoyed the privilege of bringing out the beauties of an instrument rather than being obliged to conceal its defects. I was not only enabled to get rid of all those fancy registrations, but I was able as the action improved to cultivate a vocabulary of articulation that far exceeded anything I had before possessed. [Palmer, Harpsichord in America, 144] It was also during the 1950’s that Delrin plastic plectra were introduced on Hubbard & Dowd instruments, a breakthrough that allowed the duo to use a synthetic material that, while producing a sound similar to quill, lasted much longer and was easier to maintain. To this day, many builders still use Delrin. The pioneering partnership dissolved in 1958, and both continued to do important work. Dowd later explained, “Frank never liked to do the same thing twice, and I did.” (Palmer: Harpsichord in America, 139) Indeed, after opening a new shop in Cambridge, Dowd went on to build many Taskin-based instruments that were extremely popular. However, he did not stop there: In 1964 he built an instrument based on the N. et Francois Blanchet harpsichord from 1730 (restored by Charles Fisher), which went on to become another popular model. Dowd continued to bring his designs ever closer to those of extant antiques, but he also added “transposing keyboards,” a modern innovation which allowed players to “transpose” between modern or “historic” pitch by merely sliding the keyboards back and forth. This ingenious idea helped to make the harpsichord a mainstay of “modern” orchestras that increasingly felt the need to use historical harpsichords when performing baroque music, and gave harpsichordists the ability to work in both the “modern” and “early music” worlds. Most descriptions of Dowd portray a man of incredible energy and intellect, with a larger- than-life presence and a generous nature. Sheridan Germann’s wonderful description of her first meeting with him paints this picture well: I retain five clear and specific memories from that first meeting with Bill Dowd, and each showed a quality characteristic of him when I knew him better: a limitless, concentrated, enthusiasm for and knowledge of his subject (and almost everything else, as I later discovered; a love for words and language, both serious and playful; an occasionally curmudgeonly temperament on the right side of which it was best to stay; an extraordinary generosity with time, knowledge, and favors, even to strangers; and a no-nonsense respect for substance and workmanship in instrument building, and rejection of theoretical magic and mythology. [Palmer, “William R. Dowd: A Tribute”, 18] A pivotal project came Dowd’s way in 1967 when John Fesperman, Curator of Musical Instruments at the Smithsonian Institution, commissioned an exact replica of the 1730 N. et Francois Blanchet instrument for the museum. Dowd went to France in 1969 to find the proper wood, and it was during that expedition that he met Reinhard von Nagel at the Paris Conservatoire and the idea of a Paris workshop was born. Yet again, the stars had aligned for Dowd to start a second “revolution,” for while Dowd’s work was known in Europe, it was only with the opening of this shop that European players actually became acquainted with his instruments. In a seismic shift, most of the contestants at the 1974 Bruges International Harpsichord Competition chose Dowds. As Dowd related: I have never attended the International Harpsichord Festivals in Bruges, but I understand that before the establishment of Dowd-Paris most of the harpsichords used for the competitions were of the heavily-ribbed and strung factory-made variety. In contrast, by 1974 the majority of the instruments used in the competition were harpsichords built in the classical tradition. I would humbly suggest that I had a part in bringing the French harpsichord tradition back to the French. [Dowd, “70th Birthday Tribute: A response,” 11] William Christie bought the first Paris Dowd in 1972, and Gustav Leonhardt ordered a Blanchet model from the shop in 1975. In 1982, Dowd and von Nagel examined a double- manual harpsichord by Michael Mietke, the only builder definitively associated with J.S. Bach, and the first Dowd/Mietke was built in 1983. Introduced to great fanfare at that year’s Boston Early Music Festival, it became a popular model that was ordered by many notable players and institutions, including Dowd’s alma mater. Leonhardt bought one in 1984, and it happened to be one of the last instruments from the Dowd-Paris shop. After nearly 250 harpsichords completed under Dowd’s artistic direction, the Paris association ended in 1985, and the revolution had come full circle, with European players embracing historical replicas.